Ever Observant
by Pho3niX
Summary: He had always been content to hover in the shadows, merely observing dispassionately – until she came along. HGBZ. AU after OotP.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter.

**Ever Observant**

_(1/2)_

He watched her now, like always. Watching her was his favourite pastime these days.

His very nature was to observe, to slink back into the shadows and let his eyes trail after his peers roaming the hallways. He viewed the daily dramas with indifference, only pausing to note the current events for future reference. He had no interest personally in most of the goings-on at Hogwarts, but he certainly knew better than to allow himself to fall into ignorance.

Slytherins knew the value of information, of watching and calculating. Dispassionate as he was, he knew anything could become priceless; knowledge provided a way to claw higher in the games of intrigue, a way to protect your back or a way to gain leverage.

He enjoyed being the best at this game. No-one knew as much as he did. The stupid ones didn't realise he existed half the time. The average ones acknowledged his presence, but thought no more upon it. The intelligent ones noted the threat and steered clear, choosing to allow him his pursuit. They were wise enough to know better than to futilely attempt to stop him. And then the cunning ones used him. Yet some, like the pretentious Draco Malfoy, thought themselves above his intelligence, thought school marks showed it all.

Malfoy….who used him and tried to thwart him at every turn simultaneously. He enjoyed watching the look on the too-pale face, the way it twisted with rage and confusion, when Malfoy found himself outmatched, every single time. And yet it was a hollow pleasure that faded all-too-briefly. The spark of satisfaction at putting others in their place was quick to disappear.

He supposed it was because he found himself more at home within the shadows. He did not need constant recognition; he was content most of the time in knowing he was justified in his disdain of his fellow students.

No-one had ever been able to capture more than a fleeting interest from him. Why should they? They were a bunch of selfish fools who focused too often on the present and became easily embroiled in emotional upheavals and transient dramas. Not a single soul interested him beyond a day or two at most. He had thought it would always be like this for him.

That was before she came to his attention.

He had dismissed her in their first year at school together. Her choice in friends was appalling. Her emotions were wild, completely uncontrolled. She seemed to thrive on positive attention and proving her capabilities, even for trivial matters. In short, she was nothing more to him than another obnoxious student.

Second Year had him raising his eyebrows at her predicament and feeling a smile briefly curl his lips upward. It was not often that a student managed to gain certain attributes of a cat, after all. He questioned, and listened, and eventually discovered that she had brewed Polyjuice Potion illegally. He was intrigued. This girl would nearly dislocate her shoulder in her efforts to be asked the answer to a question in class, and yet she had refused to tell teachers she had managed to brew such a difficult potion – _successfully_ – at the age of 12. He was intrigued, but one week into the summer break and his interest had already faded.

Third Year had made him re-evaluate her. Somehow, she was taking an extraordinarily large amount of classes. Once he had realised it simply wasn't possible for her to take them all at once, he had investigated. He had followed her doggedly to every class, sometimes missing his own, determined to discover her secret. A flash of gold metal encasing glass, glimpsed before she had slipped inside an empty classroom, had given him his answer. He had been intrigued once he realised the power she had, and yet she told no-one. Even her closest friends were oblivious. He watched her for days, the longest he'd watched anyone consistently, but when no further discrepancies came to light, he subsided.

It wasn't until Fourth Year that he realised she could be more than pretty, but outright gorgeous when she took the time and effort. Her beauty at the Yule Ball was equal to, if not outshined by, that of other girls there, but he had only looked at her, sparing others no more than a fleeting glance. He stared at her because she had refrained from such shows of extravagance until now, only coming out of the shadows just that one time, unlike the other girls who dressed up day-to-day. Something in him approved.

In Fifth Year, he had gone back to analyse her once again, to his annoyance. He had found Umbridge to be a loathsome creature, and her Inquisitorial Squad brash and their sadistic amusement in torturing select students tedious and childish at best. Of course, that hadn't stopped him from extracting information from the more stupid members.

That was how he had discovered their attempts to locate Potter's forbidden 'study group'. He had gone off on his own, curiosity briefly snagged by this occurrence. By a stroke of luck, he had been leaning on the wall behind the obnoxiously bright-haired Ron Weasley when he had pulled out a gold coin, words appearing on the edge. Following the intellectually-impaired Gryffindor had led him to a room he knew he could not enter. He had felt reluctant admiration for the group's efforts at evading detection. The Protean charm was ingenious, and he was almost certain _she _was responsible for it.

Over the holidays, he had found himself unable to avoid thinking about her. His return for his sixth year of schooling had found him practically stalking the witch. Watching her in the library, using its confines in a similar fashion as he used the shadows, he realised that he had finally found someone worthy of his attention.

Everything about her intrigued him. He respected how she had stayed back in Harry Potter's shadow, content to help him, be the mastermind that was never acknowledged. It reminded him of himself, and it drew him to her like a moth to flame.

Her actions over the past few years came back to mind, and he found he could no longer deny the interest they held, when considered all at once. His eyes sought her out at the dinner table, in classes, in the hallways. He couldn't help himself. Everything she did now made him smile in amusement or arch a brow in thoughtful consideration. He grew to love her traits and endeavoured to know as much about her as he could. He hungered to know more, to get closer.

He discovered that she loved to eat Chocolate Frogs and then lick the sticky sweetness off her fingers one by one before chasing it down with Butterbeer. He knew her parents were Muggle teeth healers, and that they wrote to her once a month. He was aware of her preference for eagle quills and how she loved to breathe in the scents of old books. He knew her class schedule by heart, was aware of the right corners to wait in to be able to catch a glimpse of her as she hurried past. He noticed how she preferred her hair up in a bun during tests but liked it to tumble freely over her shoulders and back when curled up in her favourite chair in the library whilst studying.

His eyes were drawn to her like a magnet at all times. He found the combination of her intelligence, fierce loyalty and hunger for knowledge very appealing. He enjoyed how she allowed others to think she was a show-off, and yet hid her true achievements and did not boast. Most of all, he enjoyed leaning back in class, eyes half-lidded, watching her take notes or practice wand movements, imagining how smooth her skin would feel under his fingertips, or how she might sound in the throes of passion.

The way she hid her figure behind loose uniforms and let her hair run wild lured him like no other girl ever had. He found the brief glimpses of her body when she raised her arms above her head, stretching the jumper tightly across her front, to be utterly tantalising. The idea of slowly slipping her clothes off, revealing the body hidden beneath, was enough to make desire roar through his veins, clamouring for her.

He was no stranger to bedding witches; despite his near anonymity, he had seduced a fair few witches when the need became unbearable or the fancy took him. But he felt nothing for them, and they used him as much as he did them. Yet seeing her bite her lip in thought made him more aroused than the sight of another witch sitting on his desk and letting him see her panties would be.

He had spent the rest of his sixth year observing her and deciding how to best approach her. He wanted her; more than he'd ever wanted anything else in his life. He wanted her writhing under him, moaning his name. He wanted her to sit beside him and flash that sweet smile at him more often than the few times they crossed paths in the hallway or were paired in class. He wanted to talk to her, bask in her presence and incite intellectual debates. He was determined to seduce her and possess her. Once he had her in his grasp, he would never let her go. He intended to spend his lifetime with her. No other witch would do.

Now it was just a matter of showing her what he desired. Oh, it wouldn't be that hard to seduce her, sway her with temptation. He had seen the looks she had cast at him occasionally in class when he was paired with her, before she would blush and look away. No, the difficult part would be convincing her that he wanted all of her, and on a permanent basis. And then hopefully she would agree. He didn't think he could bear it if she refused to be his.

In their seventh and final year at Hogwarts, he approached Hermione Granger at last.

**TBC**


End file.
